


Fall In Line

by shinkonokokoro



Series: Disguises Are Fun [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade just really needs Sherlock to behave at the crime scene. He's being observed, and won't John <i>please</i> help him out? John figures out a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall In Line

**Author's Note:**

> Now translated into Chinese, [here](http://www.mtslash.com/viewthread.php?tid=60462&extra=) by Sheyu

The invite buzzed in just after John had finished reading the harried text from Lestrade: _I don't care what it takes PLEASE make him behave. Being observed today. Supervisor strict._  


Sherlock looked at him expectantly. “Well?”  


Straightening his shoulders, John met his eyes. “We're going, of course. You, however, will be a perfect gentleman for Lestrade.”  


Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I hardly—”  


“As a favour.”  


“I don't—”  


“As well as for the incentive that I will enact one of your fantasies when we've finished.”  


Sherlock perked up at that, a grin crossing his lips. “Any?”  


“Pick one, tell me, and I'll do my best.” He nodded firmly, folding his arms.  


Sherlock licked his lips, voice a little husky. “Okay.”  


He felt his brows go up. “Really?”  


“Yes.”  


“Even towards Anderson?”  


“Don't ask the impossible, John.” He rolled his eyes again and then ran for his coat. “Let's go, then.”  


John grabbed his own coat and then followed Sherlock down to the taxi. He kept flicking glances at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, knowing the other man could probably see them coming. But he sat with his hands folded demurely in his lap, still. He exited the taxi sedately, walking to the yellow tape, behind which Lestrade stood with Donovan, Anderson crouching next to the body. He sent Sherlock a smug look and then slowly reached out a finger and touched the body. John grabbed Sherlock's wrist as the man started forward, quivering with anger as his brows dipped down fiercely.  


“Ah! Sherlock! And John,” Lestrade said loudly, coming over to the yellow tape. “Why didn't you come in.”  


“I was waiting for your permission, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said, with a look of crafted innocence.  


Lestrade gaped at him for a second before pulling the tape up and allowing them both to duck under. “What did you _do_ , Watson?”  


John gave his own look of innocence, shrugging, shoving hands deeper into his pockets. “I told him to behave.”  


“At _gunpoint_?” Lestrade hissed, watching Sherlock wander over to the body, Anderson wandering away, and squat, pulling on gloves to examine.  


John made a disapproving scoff. “That's _hardly_ necessary.”  


“You _must_ teach me this trick,” Lestrade grumbled.  


John's brows flew up and felt his face twist into a strange expression. “I don't think it would be _quite_ as effective...”  


Lestrade squinted at him. “Right then.”  


“That your supervisor?” John said with a subtle nod at the tall man over by the squad car. With a clip board. Predictable.  


“Mm. Yes. We should ah... probably join Sherlock...”  


John smiled and strolled up behind his flatmate and then knelt at his side. “So?”  


Sherlock's eyes flicked at him quickly and then back at the body. And then at Lestrade. “Sir, the victim was approximately 45, a divorcee, she did _not_ have possession of the child. She had troubles with substance abuse. That is not, however, what killed her.” He peered back down at the body, seeming to ignore Lestrade and Donovan's gaping. “She seems to have... John, please verify my conclusion, but she seems to have died from starvation.”  


John frowned then and leaned over the body. “Huh. Cracked skin, loose skin due to loosing weight too quickly, sallow complexion... Yes. I agree. Starvation.”  


Sherlock gave him a nod and a low, “Thank you, John.”  


He stood and moved back to stand perpendicular to Lestrade and Sally, paying more attention to their reactions than Sherlock's deductions, filing away that information for when Sherlock required him to need it later. Until he turned to look at Sherlock, still kneeling on the ground, eyes wide and so damned _earnest_ that John felt stirrings in places other than his upper half. Sherlock blinked slowly, looking up through his lashes, for all intents and purposes, an eager-to-please consultant. His lips spread in a soft grin at John's sudden intake of breath and eyes widening.  


“Was that all you needed, Inspector?” Sherlock asked quietly, _gently_ , rising gracefully to his feet. His head was ducked a little so he seemed shorter, and all the blustery confidence he usually held about himself like a crown and sceptre were gone in place of timidity and submission.  


John liked it.  


“Um...” Lestrade looked flushed and flustered. “Yea—yes. I think that's it... Um. Thanks for your help. I guess.” He looked over at John, eyes wide and staring, probably meaning something along the lines of _what have you done to Sherlock_?!  


John smiled calmly, hoping he wasn't flushed too badly. “Later then.”  


Lestrade nodded rather numbly. “Oh wait. What are we looking for then?”  


“One of those self-help speakers, Sir. There's a pamphlet in her pocket. She's probably been going regularly. Hence the self-denial. Though it didn't stop the drugs.” He smiled then, happy and looking for approval.  


“Jesus...” Lestrade muttered.  


“Time to go!” John said brightly, grabbing Sherlock by the wrist and dragging him towards the yellow tape. “Best of luck!”  


“J-john!” Sherlock's voice hitched, still in character as John dragged him to the kerb to hail a taxi.  


“Stop talking,” John growled, surprised to feel the shudder through Sherlock's arm. He turned as the taxi slowed to a stop. “Oh.”  


Sherlock's eyes widened and then narrowed as something akin to a blush pinked his cheeks. “Figured it out, have you...”  


He only grinned and then stood back. “Get in.”  


His flatmate nodding, Sherlock opened the door and quickly scooted into the seat.  


“No talking the ride home. Keep your hands in your lap,” he ordered.  


Sherlock sat still, allowed himself to be dragged from the taxi when they arrived.  


“Pay.”  


He floundered for his wallet and shoved some bills at the cabbie and then stared expectantly at John, cheek slightly flushed.  


“Go inside,” John said lowly, looking him up and down. “Take your coat off. Hang it. Then go into the bedroom and strip, lying on the bed.”  


Sherlock's shaky nod in answer was enough. And then he's gone, almost running to the bedroom.  


John took his time, hanging his coat and lining up his shoes neatly by the door. Pads to their bedroom, Sherlock's, since it was easier each time they got their hands on each other, and then it just became habit. He paused in the doorway and looked Sherlock over, nude and stretched out, shoulders hunched up against the headboard. John smiled. “You were very good at the crime scene. I'm surprised Lestrade didn't have a heart attack.”  


Sherlock's lips twitched in a smile that he wasn't sure he was allowed to show.  


“This is your fantasy, I'm guessing.”  


“You deduce very well,” Sherlock replied huskily. He squirmed slightly, bringing John's attention to just how much he was excited.  


“Hands above your head. Don't touch yourself,” he said curtly, placing his own hands in the small of his back, a loose imitation of military that made Sherlock suck in air. He then stripped off his jumper and folded it carefully onto the dresser and stepped out of his jeans, laying those over the back of a chair. Getting up on the bed next to Sherlock's head, he pulled down his pants and offered his prick towards Sherlock. “Suck me.”  


And Sherlock did, eyes fluttering closed as he grabbed on to John's hips to balance himself. Cheeks hollowing, he laved his tongue flat against the bottom of his cock making him hiss as Sherlock groaned. The vibrations made him shudder, but he fought to stay still and not thrust into his lover's mouth. Sherlock pulled back to suckle the head, tongue exploring everywhere, teasing and licking. “ _Off_ ,” John managed to bark.  


Sherlock withdrew as if hauled off, staring up at him with wide eyes, dark with lust, wanting more. “Now what,” he prompted breathlessly.  


Shifting, John moved back and stood at the end of the bed. “Suck your fingers. Make a show of it.” Sherlock grinned and relaxed back against the headboard, sucking two fingers into his mouth. John watched the digits disappear and reappear, faint light from outside glinting off the spit, accentuating the obscene noises. “That's all the slick you'll get.” He bit down on the inside of his cheek to prevent the pleased little smile that threatened to burst forth at Sherlock's renewed effort and soft moans. “That's enough. Prepare yourself.” And then watched the fingers slide down his body, pausing over his prick, and then moving on at a disapproving noise from John. From his vantage point, John could see the ring of muscle, Sherlock's fingers slipping into himself. “Bring yourself close. Hit your prostate once—there you go.” He watched another few thrusts before barking to stop again. Then climbed up on the bed and nudged Sherlock's knees further apart to accommodate his hips.  


“John...” He breathed, muscles strained. “Come on.”  


“Don't touch yourself. Hands above your head again,” he ordered, voice husky as he pulled Sherlock's hips up onto his thighs when he sat back on his heels. He nudged the tip of his prick up against Sherlock's hole and stayed there, rocking forward so all Sherlock had was the pressure but not the penetration. He soon had him gasping and arching his hips towards John desperately, whining.  


“John...! John come _on_!” he gasped.  


And then John slid into him in one smooth motion, Sherlock's spine arching.  


“Oh _God_ yes... Come on, John!” His hands came down from over his head, twisting in the sheets.  


“Don't hold back,” he growled, Sherlock whining high in his throat as John slammed into him.  


“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, eyes flying open. “ _Oh_! Right there..! John!”  


John grit his teeth, trying to hold off for all Sherlock's gasping, moaning, and writhing pushed him to the edge.  


“Again! Again!” Sherlock cried, arching hard against John, making him gasp, rhythm stuttering. “Jo-ohn...!” Sherlock's hands scrabbled for something to hold onto, one settling into a stranglehold in the sheets, the other clamping down over one of John's on Sherlock's hips, fingers interlacing as all the breath seemed bottled up in him while his jaw fell open in a noiselessly scream of release.  


John thrust through it, until he too stuttered through his release and the last of his groan was drowned into Sherlock's chest. A few moments passed and then he pulled out of Sherlock slowly and reached over to the bedside table for a tissue, wiping them both before collapsing next to Sherlock's side. He smiled at the blissed, sated expression crossing his lover's features and pulled the duvet up before they chilled.  


“That was....excellent, John.”  


“Glad you approve,” he replied wryly. “Good thing you weren't in the military, huh.”  


Sherlock shuddered. “I would have died. I'd never have survived training. Besides.” He rolled onto his side to look at John. “I really think you're the only one who could have wrung that sort of reaction out of me. I generally very much don't like being bossed around, you know.”  


“I know.” John smiled at him. “You're quite the headstrong one...” He slung an arm over Sherlock's hips. Smacked his arse. “Perhaps you just need a bit of punishment.”  


Sherlock's eyes went wide and his tongue darted across his lips.  


“Oh God. That another on your fantasy list?” John groaned, surprised to see Sherlock flushing. Then chuckled. “Perhaps later.”  


“Oh John... You _do_ spoil me...” he said with a wicked grin. “Don't ever stop.”  


“I'll try not to...” He replied with a yawn. “I'm having a nap. You're welcome to join me.” And closed his eyes.  


Snuggling closer, Sherlock pulled John's arm around him tighter. “I might. Though I haven't forgotten about your promise for later...”  


“Promise...? That wasn't a promise...” he said fuzzily, drifting off. “Later...”  


“Later,” he heard Sherlock agree.


End file.
